The Warbler

Words have always come hard for me. They form beautifully in my head. Making it from the brain to my mouth is the hard part. They refuse to vocalize.

It’s so frustrating! If anything comes out at all, it’s a single word. Whenever I fail, that hopeful look on Mom’s face and her sad smile are heartbreaking.

Music is different. Songs flow from me like water - no words but pure tone. Mom says I sound so much like a songbird that she calls me Warbler. They are her favorite songbirds.

It’s just me and Mom. My dad died when I was little. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I pass the bodega where the robbery happened every day. My neighborhood streets are not safe.

One day, as I was walking home, I saw a blue and white stone. I collect rocks, so I pocketed it. It wasn't until I was in my room that I heard the stone humming.

That night, I had the strangest dream. As I shuffled into the bathroom the next morning, I was startled by my cat darting out from behind the shower curtain. The yelp I let out blew the door off the frame.

After I recovered from my shock, I experimented with what I could do. Even when the words stayed in my head, my voice moved the objects in my mind.

I hatched a plan to clean up my neighborhood. I dug through my closet until I found a blue hoodie and white sweats. My old Zorro mask was the perfect addition.

I slipped out at night to search for trouble, leaving the perpetrators neatly wrapped for the police to find.

When I put on the suit, I am no longer Will Watson. I am The Warbler.